


A Spectrum of Normalcy

by catchsparks



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3080408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catchsparks/pseuds/catchsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy isn’t much for dancing (because even though he is 23 and he has grown into his limbs and his height and his build, there are just some skills Camp Half Blood could never help him acquire), but he’s discovered just how willing he is to do whatever Annabeth wants - especially when he gets to watch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spectrum of Normalcy

If there is one thing Percy has learned in his twenty-three years of being alive, it’s that normalcy is not something he should ever take for granted. There’s something about this time of the year that reminds him of this most, when he finds himself participating in routine celebrations that seemed impossible just a few years ago. Not that attending a VIP New Year’s Eve bash at one of New York’s premier clubs was routine or normal (courtesy of Piper’s father’s connections), but there’s something about the holidays that lulls him into a sense of comfort he doesn’t always feel 365 days out of the year. 

“Enjoying the view, Jackson?”

“Always,” he replies, taking the stairs to their apartment two at a time. 

She’s in a particularly short dress that he has no doubt Piper picked out, and she’s all legs, which is the only thing he’s been able to focus on all night.

Percy isn’t much for dancing (because even though he is 23 and he has grown into his limbs and his height and his build, there are just some skills Camp Half Blood could never help him acquire), but he’s discovered just how willing he is to do whatever Annabeth wants - especially when he gets to watch.

Annabeth. Daughter of Athena. Architect of Olympus. Strategic mastermind. _Really good_ dancer.

It shouldn’t surprise him, really, considering how gracefully she moves when she’s sparring or in battle or in bed...

He makes it to their floor before he misjudges the height of the top step and the toe of his shoe catches on the cement, pitching him forward in what he’s certain would be a faceplant, except he’s caught up to Annabeth, who somehow manages to steady herself when his body crashes against her back. He’ll never understand her reflexes, or the way she does what she does in heels. 

“Smooth moves, Jackson,” she says, turning to face him. “No wonder I missed you on the dance floor tonight.”

He straightens, balance wavering as Annabeth closes the gap between them, hooking her thumbs through his belt loops and pressing a chaste kiss on his jaw line.  
“Enjoy the show?” Her voice is low, breathy, and she begins to move, guiding his hips with her hands.

He thinks over the night, time spent watching her over the rim of his glass as she moved with Piper to the rhythm of the music. 

“That was all for me, huh?” 

“Not entirely...” He feels her teeth graze his ear lobe, and he is done for. So done for. He grips her waist, stopping the slow grind of her hips so he can slide his hands down until he has a firm grip on her ass. He lifts her, eliciting a surprised shriek as she wraps her legs around him and lets him carry her to their apartment.

“Keys,” he mumbles against her lips, and Annabeth shifts her thigh so he can reach into his pocket. He’s holding her up with one arm as he fumbles with the key, thankful as the lock gives way. He rips the keys out of the lock and tosses them, blindly kicking the door shut behind him and pushing Annabeth against the wall. Her kisses are urgent, desperate, and the noise he makes when her teeth clamp against his bottom lip is almost feral.

He spins them around, maneuvering toward the couch and practically collapsing against it with Annabeth still wrapped around his waist. She pulls away to readjust her legs so that they’re planted firmly on either side of his, pinning him to the couch (as if he would want to be anywhere else right now), and he watches intently, as she runs her fingers through her curls to brush her hair back, leaving the long stretch of her neck exposed. 

Before he can lean forward, Annabeth’s hands are on his chest, pushing him back into the cushions of the couch. She shakes her head at him, and he realizes what exactly he’s gotten himself into. She’s had control of him all night, keeping his eyes glued to her as she danced, the way she’d kissed him hard at midnight until a slow burn had settled in his stomach, and now here, he had played right into her hand.

He’s cursing himself for forgetting what exactly a daughter of Athena is capable of, when he feels her hand palm him through his tailored slacks. She’s well aware that he’s been half-hard for most of the night, and she’s clearly determined to kill him. 

He can’t help the way his hips arch against her as she undoes his belt, deftly unbuttoning and unzipping without any struggle. Her lips find his as she frees him from his briefs, and she strokes him once, twice, before she pushes herself from her position above him, knees sinking into the carpet of the floor. Percy’s eyes spring open just in time to see the wicked grin stretched across her face, and then she takes him into her mouth and he can’t see much else. His hands find her curls, twisting and tugging and tangling as she sucks him off, slowly. 

There is nothing better than Annabeth on her knees, he thinks, and then her mouth leaves him and he practically whimpers as she gives him one final lick, dragging her tongue from base to tip. He’s rock hard and knows without a doubt she must really be trying to kill him. He watches her stand up, cock throbbing as she removes her heels and then steps out of her underwear, and he knows his jaw must be slack from the satisfied look on her face that she doesn’t even try to hide.

“Have I told you lately just how fucking hot you are, Chase?”

“Hmm,” she pretends to consider this, hand finding him as she resumes her position from earlier. “I think it’s been a couple of hours actually. Do you want to remind me?” 

He’s got a reply on his lips ready to go, filthy enough to make her blush, but she guides him into her before he can summon the words and it all comes out as an incoherent jumble of syllables and vowels. 

She rides him, finding a slow and torturous rhythm. Whenever he gets close, she changes pace and he knows it’s intentional, knows she’s getting off on literally teasing the ever-living-fuck out of him. Percy forces himself to focus, to watch as her hips move over him, and no, he thinks, there is nothing better than Annabeth on top. 

She’s pinning his hands over the back of the couch, both for control and for balance, and he could probably overpower her if he really wanted to (not that it would be easy by any means), but he lets her have her way. He loves when Annabeth gets like this - unhinged and downright cruel. 

After what feels like hours, she finally releases her grip on his wrists and he takes this to mean she’s driven herself to the point that she can no longer stand to hold out for the sake of teasing him. Her palms flatten against his chest again and he slides his hands down, gripping her hips as they find a more erratic rhythm. It’s not going to take much for him at all at this point and he has no idea how he hasn’t already literally imploded from frustration, so he slides one hand between them and beneath her dress, thumb finding her as she rocks into him. He feels her thighs instantly clench around his waist at the pressure and the heat is too much.

She kisses him as he comes, swallowing his moan as she starts to pulse around him. She pulls away, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as she rides out her orgasm. And okay, Percy thinks, there is nothing better than Annabeth just like this.

When she catches her breath and finally opens her eyes, she sees him staring up at her in a mixture of awe and self-satisfaction. It’s a signature Percy look, especially post-sex.

“What is it, Jackson?” She tries to be coy, but she’s absolutely exhausted and it resonates in her voice.

“Just enjoying the view, Wise Girl,” he mocks from their earlier banter on the stairs.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” His thumb trails a lazy pattern over her the fabric of her dress, tracing from her hip down to the exposed skin of her thigh. She immediately feels a buzz in her skin, because even though she’s spent and her feet hurt from the heels and she just wants to curl against him and asleep, she’s also eager to see what kind of reaction she gets out of him after that.

“You know,” she murmurs, licking her lips as he moves his fingers higher, close to where they are still joined. “It’s actually technically been a whole year since you’ve told me just how hot I am.”

Percy arches his eyebrows at her. “Is that right?”

“If my memory serves correctly - and we both know it always does - it is,” she replies matter-of-factly.

He seems to ponder this, eyes and hands roaming before he leans forward, pressing his lips to her ear as he speaks, “I guess we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?”

“It would be in your best interests.”

And while he’s no expert on what defines normal, he can definitely get used to this.


End file.
